“A beater, I tell ya,” Toivo said. He rapped on the door again, knock-knock-knock.
The door opened.
No screech of hinges, no sound; it just swung inward.
The heat seemed to vanish; George was cold once again, frozen in place, motionless.
Inside the door, a short creature that had all the bits and pieces he’d seen scattered about the ship, but smaller, all the gore pressed back together into a tiny shape of stick-thin limbs and black eyes (three eyes, not two) in a big head, too big for the body, and—
Toivo fired, the barrel, only inches from the big head: The head blew apart in a clear water-balloon-splatter that splashed goop on George’s face. The creature dropped instantly, a lifeless sack of meat, a puppet cut free from supporting strings.
Toivo slid back the bolt, a metallic sound that seemed just as loud as the gunshot itself. As he pushed it forward, what lay beyond the door came into sudden clarity.
The bolt ratcheted into place, and the barrel came up for another shot.
George’s hand snapped out, grabbed the barrel, raised it up just as Toivo fired: the round went somewhere into the ceiling.
“Georgie, what are you doing?”
“Stop! Just stop!”
George was aware of heat on his hand, where he’d grabbed the barrel, but distantly, because his brain was busy processing what he saw. This room, not as beat up as everything else. Heavy, curving girders running from floor to ceiling, and between them what could only be crash seats of some kind with heavy reinforced doors and thick padding visible behind thick windows. All of this, yes, all of it registering for him, but distant, like the heat on his hand, because in the middle of the room stood a dozen creatures, most smaller than the one Toivo had just killed, some so small they wouldn’t have come up to George’s knee, all clinging together in a trembling pile, black eyes (black alien eyes, not human, not at all, but fear is fear just like a hallway is a hallway) wide open and staring.
“They’re kids,” George said. “Fucking Jesus . . . kids.”
Children. The aliens had put their children in the ship’s safest room, perhaps as soon as trouble started . . .
Goddamn car seats . . . alien spaceship car seats . . . they strapped them in, safe and sound and snug as a bug in a rug, same thing I would have done with my boys . . .
“Georgie, let go of da gun,” Toivo said.
“Same as I would have done,” George said. “Same.”
Toivo yanked his rifle barrel free, almost pulled George off-balance in the process.
Would he shoot another one?
George positioned himself between Toivo and the door, blocking Toivo’s line of sight to the aliens. George tried to close the door, but the dead body blocked it. He reached down, grabbed the bone-thin little arm and dragged the body into the corridor. He stood and again put his hand on the door, to pull it shut, but before he did he glanced into the room—the little creatures were watching him, their black eyes wide with palpable terror.
He knew what they had seen, how they had perceived it: an alien (because to them, that’s exactly what he was) pulling their dead friend away, leaving a streak of wetness behind, then sealing them in.
George again tried to close the door—this time, it was Toivo that stopped it from shutting.
Toivo stared at him.
“Georgie, are you nuts? We gotta kill them.”
“No, we don’t.”
“They’re bombing cities,” Toivo said. “Killing thousands, maybe millions.”
George heard this. He nodded.
“The ones in this room aren’t doing it,” he said. “They didn’t do anything.”
Toivo sneered in disgust, then tried to push the door open—George blocked him with his shoulder.
The two childhood friends locked eyes. Toivo seemed to study George for a moment, as if measuring the man’s will. Then, Toivo shook his head.
“I’ll go back and check on Mister Ekola,” he said.
Toivo walked to Bernie and Arnold. George saw those two looking back, Jaco as well—no one knew what to do, what to think, so they just stared.
George couldn’t meet their gaze.
Kids. Children. This ship, old and repaired and beat up . . . adults dead all over the place, but the kids, safe and sound. Had the one in the walking machine blown up the cabin just to kill, or was it trying to eliminate any threat to these little ones? Was that why the ship had come in the first place? To make a new home?
George didn’t know. He didn’t have any answers. All he could think about was what it would be like if a skinny-limbed alien had kicked in the door to his boys’ bedroom, aimed a weapon at their faces, shot one of them, dropped him like a bag of meat and bones while the other boy watched, helpless to defend himself. How horrible would that be? How life-shattering, how soul-rending?
Toivo was right: Before the phones stopped working George had read the news—the aliens were killing people.
Thousands, maybe millions.
But there were billions of people . . . billions that would fight back, fight back and kill the aliens.
“But not these ones,” George said to no one. “They didn’t do anything. They’re just kids.”
He pulled the door tight. Hands on the wheel, he leaned back, making sure the door had a good seal, then turned it until he heard something click home inside.
“Just kids,” he said. “Just kids.”
He could protect them, but only because there was no one around for miles save for George's childhood friends. And even then, he wasn’t sure—if Toivo, Jaco, and Bernie all insisted on opening that door and shooting whatever they saw inside, how far was George willing to go to prevent that?
Would a stranger have even let him shut that door? What if it had been ten strangers? What if it had been a hundred? If a ship like this crashed or came down near a destroyed city, human survivors would kill any alien they saw—adult or child, it didn’t matter—the first chance they had.
Humanity would win. George felt that in his core, knew it at a base level just as his body knew how to breathe, just as his heart knew how to beat. Humanity would win because those billions of survivors would fight back, and there were millions of guns out there for them to use.
Bullets did the same thing to aliens that they did to people.
Even if all the cities were destroyed, humanity would win. Too many people, too many guns.
And knives. And clubs. And rocks. And fists.
The aliens had attacked, had announced themselves with violence and death. People would be only too happy to return that greeting in kind. George envisioned instant mob scenes, aliens torn to pieces by enraged people. There would be no reasoning with these mobs—how do you appeal to a person’s humanity when the target isn’t human?
Too many people, too many guns.
Humanity would win.
When this was over, would the alien children behind that door be the only ones left?
George tightened the wheel on the door, made doubly sure it was as shut as it could be. He didn’t want it opening on its own. And he prayed the little creatures wouldn't open it, wouldn't come walking out, because judging by the looks on the faces of his friends, the alien children would be as good as dead.
“Just kids,” he mumbled. “Just kids.”
He walked to join his friends.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Scott Sigler is the New York Times bestselling author of the Infected trilogy (Infected, Contagious, and Pandemic), Ancestor, and Nocturnal, hardcover thrillers from Crown Publishing; and the co-founder of Empty Set Entertainment, which publishes his Galactic Football League series (The Rookie, The Starter, The All-Pro, and The MVP). Before he was published, Scott built a large online following by giving away his self-recorded audiobooks as free, serialized podcasts. His loyal fans, who named themselves “Junkies,” have downloaded over eight million individual episodes of his stories and interact daily with Scott and each other in the social m
edia space.
GOODNIGHT STARS
Annie Bellet
The redwoods whispered overhead in the warm summer breeze as Lucy Goodwin gathered another handful of fallen branches for the camp fire. She looked up at the sky, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. The meteor shower the night before had been amazing. She hoped she and her friends would be treated to more tonight. Everyone had asked her about meteor showers and the Perseids and all that space crap. It was embarrassing.
As if she knew anything just because her mother was on the Moon. She snorted. Mom was an engineer, not an astrophysicist. Though you’d never know from how hard she pushed sciences at her only kid.
“Can’t wait to have the ‘you declared what major!’ conversation when she gets home,” Lucy muttered. All she and Mom did these days was fight, but it wasn’t her fault. Lucy wanted to live her own life, not a life in her mom’s shadow. One scientist in the family was plenty.
A smoky trail blazed through the sky and Lucy felt an odd pressure in her ears. It faded quickly, but the smoke still hung like some kind of brownish cloud. Repressing a shiver, Lucy headed back to camp.
Loud voices greeted her as she hiked out of the tree line to the ridge.
“Lucy!” Jack, her boyfriend, was waving his cell phone at her.
She sighed and picked up her pace. They’d declared the camping trip a tech-free zone, but apparently that was another promise Jack couldn’t keep.
Kayla, Ben, and Heidi were throwing things into backpacks. Something was definitely wrong.
“What happened?” Lucy asked, as she dropped her armload of sticks and ran forward.
“I got a message from Daniel. They’re calling up all the reservists and they are offering to re-up me, despite the leg.” Jack’s blue eyes looked panicked. He’d taken shrapnel in his left leg while in Afghanistan flying helicopters. He’d gotten medical leave and started classes at Berkeley, where she and Jack had met. He’d promised he was done with all things military, even getting his walking papers only weeks before. Lucy had started to believe him when she saw the signed papers.
“Who is calling up reservists? The Army?”
“Everyone,” Jack said. “Army, Navy, Air Force, National Guard. That’s what Daniel says anyway.”
“Tell her the rest, Jack, come on,” Heidi called from inside her tent.
“Jesus, Heidi, her mom’s on the Moon,” Jack said. He ran a hand through his light brown hair, still clutching the phone.
Lucy’s stomach turned to coiled rope and then knotted itself with a sickening twist. No one would meet her eyes as she looked around the camp.
“Why are they calling everyone up? What about the damn Moon?” She stepped over a pile of tent poles and grabbed Jack’s arm, forcing him to look at her.
“Something hit the Moon. That’s why the meteors were so awesome last night. It was the Moon exploding.”
“Bullshit.” Lucy shook her head. That wasn’t possible. If the Moon had exploded, they would have seen that. It had been its usual crescent sailing along the horizon last night.
“Remember how Kayla said it looked lopsided to her?” Ben said. “The asteroid or whatever hit the back of it. That’s what the news sites were saying before reception cut out.”
“Fuck you guys if you are playing a trick on me,” Lucy said. She ducked into her and Jack’s tent, pulling her phone from her bag and powering it on. The phone sang to life with a little tune but remained stuck on the roaming screen, little multicolored dots dancing around in a circle as it struggled for reception.
Nobody could get reception. Resigned to figuring out if this was some hoax later, Lucy packed up with the rest of them. Kayla and Ben were an item lately and still in that new-couple-overwhelming-cuteness phase, so Heidi opted to ride with Jack and Lucy. Driving out of the Big Basin Redwoods state park, they stopped at the small gas station just outside, everyone in the car holding their phones, hunting for reception. Nothing.
Inside the gas station, there was a TV airing a news channel. Lucy stood inside the air-conditioned doorway, frozen.
It wasn’t a lie. Photos and images from all around the world were piling in. Meteors were striking major areas. Satellites were down all around the world. The President of the United States would have a message for everyone at 6 p.m. Eastern.
The Moon was gone. The images released thus far were of a cloudy mess. Words like “impact winter” and “massive meteor strikes” echoed from the TV. The lone attendant wasn’t paying any attention to the register; he just stood, mouth half open, holding the remote like maybe if he could change the channel he could change the future.
The Moon was gone. The Far Side Array was on the Moon.
“Mom,” Lucy said, not even realizing she’d spoken aloud until Jack put his arm around her.
“She probably got off the Moon. I mean, they have shuttles for that, right?” Jack said quietly.
“I don’t know. It’s only a few of them up on that station and they get stuck there for months at a time. Why didn’t anyone see this coming?” Lucy shoved Jack away. “Why? How did this happen and nobody knows?” She was aware she was yelling and she didn’t give two fucks.
“Uh,” the attendant said, “Some black guy in a suit came on earlier and was talking about the angle of the sun and some shit. Apparently nobody saw it coming. Probably the government is lying to us. They always are.”
Heidi spread her hands in a placating gesture that just annoyed Lucy more. “Please, Luce, we gotta get back home. I gotta call my mom, and call Dana. Let’s just go.”
Mom. Lucy pressed her lips together and breathed in through her nose. The store smelled like lemon cleaning fluid and stale beer, but it grounded her. She couldn’t get a hold of Mom even if she’d made it off the Moon. But Dad would know what was going on—he’d know what to do. And if meteors were going to strike Earth, Montana might be as safe a place as any.
Besides, Dad was like literally the only family she had left on this planet.
“No, we don’t want to be anywhere near the coasts if meteors are striking all over the planet,” she said, looking at Jack. “We’re going to my home. We’re going to Montana.”
On the TV, the news cut out and the high whining tone of the emergency broadcast station pierced the tense air in the store.
• • • •
Jack had agreed immediately, but Heidi was still sulking in the back seat as they left the serene park behind and entered a chaos of traffic. By the time they hit I-80 West toward San Jose, cars clogged the road heading into the city. It was a Sunday in August; the traffic shouldn’t have been so bad. Lucy’s cell phone still hunted for a signal. She dug out the folding map of the United States from the Jeep’s glove box. It was shiny and new, never used. Who needed a paper map when you had GPS on your phone?
She guessed Jack being a Boy Scout and Army brat was good for something. He took that always be prepared thing seriously.
“Last chance to get out and find a bus station or something,” Lucy said, leaning back over the seat and looking at Heidi.
“No,” Heidi said. She looked out the window at the clogged freeway. “I’ll go with you. I doubt they’re letting flights out, and I’d rather be with friends than alone.”
Which was good, Lucy thought. Because she’d never have really let Heidi go into the city by herself.
They cut around San Jose and headed down 580 toward Stockton, deciding to avoid I-5 North. The radio flip-flopped between static and emergency broadcasts telling people to stay in their homes. It was dark by the time they got near Stockton.
A gas station in Colfax was still open. Jack bought another gas can, filling it and adding it to the two he already kept in the back of Jeep. He topped those off, too.
“Smart thing, kids,” the old woman behind the counter said to them as they paid in cash. “Last can I have to sell. People been buying out all day going down this road toward Reno. We’re gonna be out of gas come tomorrow if the trucks don’t make it. Hea
rd there are some fires up that way, so take care.”
“You heard anything else?” Lucy asked, motioning to the TV. It was muted, just the bands of the Emergency Broadcast System twitching on the screen.
“Nothing useful,” the woman said. She smiled and shrugged her thin shoulders. “Keep calm and carry on.”
Her cackle followed them out of the station and all the way back to their car.
• • • •
The one and only time Lucy had made this drive was a year before, when she and her dad drove out to set her up at school. They’d stopped halfway through the seventeen-hour drive at a little bed and breakfast. He’d played basketball with the kids of the couple who ran the place while Lucy stood on the porch and answered awkward questions. Mom had been in training for the Moon mission, but try getting people to believe that no really, your mom was totally going to the Moon.
She’d shut off the radio over an hour before. Reno had seemed normal, almost calm. Lights still on, traffic thin. That might have been the tell that something was wrong with the world, Lucy guessed. Even on a Sunday night, traffic should have been jumping with people going out or coming home from the various entertainments Nevada’s cities had to offer. They’d grabbed snacks at another gas station but no one had felt like trying to find a restaurant or having much of a conversation.
Now though, Jack was crashed out in the passenger seat, and Heidi had shoved camping gear down so she could sprawl on the back seat. The only noises were the sounds of the tires shushing along the road. The Jeep’s headlights picked up a haze in the air and the sky was dark overhead, pierced occasionally with little flashes, like far-off lightning strikes.
Lucy had a feeling it wasn’t lightning. She didn’t want to think about the meteors. Thinking about it led to thinking about the Moon. About Mom.
She’s probably in a damn bunker somewhere in Florida or Texas or something, Lucy told herself. She blinked away angry tears and tightened her hands on the steering wheel. She regretted the pizza stick she’d eaten as her belly flipped again. No thinking about Mom. Think about Dad. About getting home. Hours now—just a few more hours. If Jack had been awake, she would have made him check the map, check the mile markers. Five or six more hours, she guessed, before they hit US-93 and headed north for Montana. Then another six or seven hours. So maybe twelve, thirteen total.
The End Is Now Page 5